


Compromised Ideals

by EustaceScrubb



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (HARD dubcon warning), Age Difference, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mindbreak, Power Dynamics, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Underage Drinking, dubcon, mention of daddy issues, mention of starker, this is kinda NTR from beyond the grave, warning: this is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EustaceScrubb/pseuds/EustaceScrubb
Summary: Quentin Beck takes a slightly different approach at the holographic bar in Prague, with quite different results. Underage drinking and highly-immoral mentor figures are not the best combination.





	1. Chapter 1

The little bar in Prague was nice, cozy, and inviting. Quentin Beck knew that because he had designed it that way. The actual building was an unused shell of course, but with a few holographic projectors and some advanced sound systems, it became a wonderful little nook. Even the patrons were largely holographic, except for a few well-placed members of his crew. No stranger (or even Nick Fury) was going to stumble into their little set-up. It was the perfect backdrop for an supposedly authentic heart-to-heart with a young, self-doubting hero.

Peter Parker slumped on the bar stool, lightly bruised from the earlier battle and eyes shadowed from too little sleep. He had looked a little rough when Beck first saw him in Venice, but the additional stress of the latest attack had done him no favors. Every angle of his face was downcast, exhausted. The kid needed a break.

“Here.” Beck placed a pint glass in front of Peter, and took a sip from his own.

“I told you before, I’m not twenty-one…”

There it was again, the weird presumption of morality that all these superheroes seemed to share. Beck considered it annoying at best, infuriating at worst. They still broke laws and ruined lives, but just pretended to do it for some sense of righteousness. It wasn’t without its advantages though: it was easier to maneuver around someone trapped in their own rigid principles.

“Hey, this is Europe, don’t they let anyone drink over here?" Beck said with a rueful chuckle. "Or that might be one of those things that’s only on my Earth.” It was such a convenient lie, the “other Earth”. Any little slip of character and you could just place the blame on the tragic backstory. He’d have to compliment Guterman on it again later.

“No, you’re right.” Peter took a sip from the glass and made a predictably sour face, but went back for another gulp.

_Not as moralistic as you seem, huh, _Beck thought with a small grin.

“I guess you’re not a beer guy?” He took a drink from his own cup. It was a standard German lager, perfectly serviceable, although his was watered down a little. Yes, he had to keep sharp, but it did nothing for the taste.

“I dunno, the only other kind I had was like… Bud light, at a party.”

Beck chuckled. “Oh, to be young. You have a whole _world_ of alcoholic beverages to experience.”

“People say that about a lot of stuff.” Peter took another sip, still slightly wrinkling his nose at the taste, and continued morosely. “Fury was right. I don’t… I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t think that was what he was saying…” Beck kept his voice comforting, paternal. He’d read the file: Peter had lost two father figures in as many years. No wonder the boy was looking for validation in a perfect stranger. Good thing the perfect stranger was him.

“I just– I don’t know what to do, about _anything_, but everyone expects me to just keep going like nothing’s wrong, like I haven’t been dust for five years, like Mr. Stark was still–” Peter rested his head in his hands. “I just wanted to go on a trip with my friends… but I still can’t escape it.”

“It’s hard. I won’t tell you it isn’t hard.” Beck gave his arm a squeeze, which Peter almost-subconsciously leaned into. “You’re young. You shouldn’t have to do all this. But for my money, you’re rising to the task.”

Peter nodded morosely, and took another gulp of lager. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to listen to my problems.”

“It’s no big deal. You remind me a bit of myself at your age.” That was a another lie. Beck couldn’t recall any time that he’d poured his heart out to a strange man in a shady bar. But he did feel for Peter, in a way. It was completely ridiculous that a sixteen year-old was given the control of a fleet of military drones that even the US government was drooling over. _Tony Stark really fucked you up good._

“Hey, let’s not worry about all that right now,” he said, with another fatherly pat on the back. “You did good tonight. People are alive right now that probably wouldn’t be without your help.”

“Thanks Mr. Beck.” Peter smiled at him with such utter relief that Beck almost felt real pity. Yes, he hated the kid on principle, but it was kind of like hating an abandoned puppy. It was so pathetic and desperate for love that you couldn’t help but indulge it a little. Mostly, just to assuage your own guilt before you take it to the pound.

“Hey, cheers kid.” He clinked Peter’s already half-empty glass against his own. “To saving this world.”

“Cheers,” Peter said, and quickly drained the rest of his glass.

He’d learned Peter’s grade point average and his aunt’s maiden name, but the EDITH AI was still a little out of reach. Beck didn’t want to push it; it had to seem like Peter’s own choice. But it was fine, trust was forming. Bridges were being built. Honestly, a large part of it was probably helped by the alcohol, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. He actually had to make Peter slow down a couple times; he was drinking like a freshman at orientation week, or like someone who wanted to forget reality for a while. It was good to keep him relaxed and pliant, but Peter wouldn’t be able to hand over control of EDITH if he was slurring his words. Beck was doing his best to appear to be matching him pint for pint, but even he was getting tipsy with watered down beer.

“No that’s not– I have like, spider immunity, it takes a lot more to get me drunk,” Peter was explaining. “Trust me.”

Beck raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that? How many times have you been drunk?”

“Enough… times.”

“Whatever you say, Parker. I’m just a mortal man, trying to keep up.”

Peter smiled again, a little shyly. “God, you… actually remind me of him.”

“Who?” Beck asked, even though he knew exactly who.

“Mr. Stark. Ironman. He was also kinda like–“ He gestured vaguely. “–y’know, nice and responsible… and stuff.”

“Wow, I’m flattered.” _I should get an Oscar for this._ “I never met the man, but I can tell he was a great hero in your world.”

“Yes, he really was,” Peter said, flushing ever-so-slightly redder than he already was from the alcohol.

_Oh. I see, _Beck realized._ No wonder Stark handed over the keys to his kingdom, he really couldn’t resist getting his ego stroked. Or anything else stroked either. _It had been the same when Beck worked for him. Sycophants and pretty young things got all the face time with the boss, and talented people like Beck and the rest of his crew were ignored, demoted, or fired. Of course Tony Stark wouldn’t be able to resist overindulging a needy young superhero who was so clearly in love with him.

It made Beck sick. Gone was the pity, he wanted to tear Peter Parker apart. How dare he casually inherit what Beck had worked so hard for? It was maddening. He wanted to destroy everything Stark had ever loved. He wanted to demolish every plan he’d made, tear down every monument he ever built, and ruin every person he ever known. That would wipe the smug smile off his corpse’s face.

“I wish he was here,” Peter said, in a small and delicate voice, “I wish… I wish I knew what to do.”

“We all do.” Beck drew him into a one-armed hug, pressing Peter’s petite frame into his own. Peter instinctively nestled into his collarbone, letting out a little sigh. _Damaged teenagers, so goddamn predictable._

He gave Victoria a discreet head shake over Peter’s shoulder. _Not tonight_. They already knew it was a long shot to get control of EDITH on the first night they tried for it. That was okay, they had time, and other contingencies. The school trip had a few more days in Prague, and they could easily follow the students to the next stop on their itinerary. If they had to engineer another catastrophe, or another heart-to-heart, so be it. He had other plans tonight.

The members of his crew gave him subtle nods and waves as they left the building. The bar illusion would keep going for a while, as the fake people slowly filtered out to follow the real ones.

Beck had released the hug a while ago, but it took Peter another moment or two to straighten up again.

“Sorry, I–“

“No need to apologize. I _want_ to help you, remember?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What do _you_ want, Peter?”

“What do you mean?” His eyes were a little wide, confused, like it was a question he’d never been asked before.

“What do you want?”

“I– I don't know.”

“What do you _want_?” Beck gripped him by the shoulders, firm and authoritative. “You, Peter Parker, now.”

“I–“ Peter stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, biting his lips. Then he lunged forward, pressing his face against Beck’s in an inexpert attempt at a kiss.

Beck expected it, and angled his head and gently lead Peter into a more comfortable position, steadying him against his overly-enthusiastic opener. Peter responded in kind for another moment, before suddenly breaking off. He glanced wildly around the bar, now mostly empty, but the other illusory patrons paid no attention to them, having been programmed only for a few repeating actions.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m so sorry!” he squeaked out, even redder than he was before.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, I don’t mind. ” Beck said gently, rubbing circles into his back. It was more than ‘didn’t mind’, it was exactly what he wanted. “Don’t be sorry… hey, I think there’s a backroom over there. Let’s speak in private for a moment.”

Beck led him gently by the elbow to the storage room that he already knew was there. It was mostly empty (just a few stacked chairs and a manager’s desk) and suspiciously dusty for a supposed well-used bar. He was pretty sure that Peter wasn’t going to notice those little details though.

“Sorry, I just– you’re so nice to me,” Peter began to babble, “And I– I don’t know– maybe I–“

_Enough beating around the bush. _Beck leaned down and kissed him. Peter stiffened for a couple seconds before throwing his arms around his neck and diving back into the kiss, with markedly more enthusiasm than skill. Beck placed one hand on the back of his head and one on his hip, gently but firmly guiding his frantic movements into something steadier. Peter in turn pressed himself more flush with his body, clearly trying to get as much contact as he possibly could.

Beck decided to make it easier on him and pushed Peter backwards against the wall. He made a little moaning noise that Beck decided to interpret as pleasure and dug his fingers into his hair and the collar of his costume. He slid a knee between Peter’s legs and slid it upwards, earning a soft little cry whispered directly into his ears.

_Now that’s power. _It was so extraordinary to have someone under your total control, hanging onto your every word and movement. He took a moment to look at Peter’s face, desperate and lustful and nervous. Hero worship, that’s what it was. No wonder Stark had kept him around, it was like the all the unconditional gratitude and love Mysterio had gotten from the people of Venice crammed into a single person. That would make even the most selfless person a little conceited.

Beck vaguely wondered if Stark had ever actually given Peter what he so clearly desired. Was this always an unrequited crush, or did Stark succumb to his base nature as he so often did in the past? He didn’t know which option he liked better: defiling Stark’s pure and innocent protege or cuckolding him from beyond the grave. The way that Peter was moving underneath him was delicious either way.

Beck was wakened from his musings by hands tightening their grip on his back. Suddenly Peter was mounting his hips, wrapping his legs behind Beck’s waist to lock them in place. Better angle achieved, Peter buried his pressed his face in the corner of Beck’s jaw and rocked hips against Beck, creating wonderful pressure and friction. Peter was lighter than he expected, or maybe it was due to the fact that he was pretty much carrying himself without any effort on Beck’s part.

He dug his fingers into the back of Peter’s thighs. “Gentle, gentle. Move a little slower. Good boy.”

Peter responded to praise with another soft moan. _One compliment and he’s like putty. That’s useful information for later. _

Beck had the sudden awareness that this was a _superhero_, an real one with super strength and agility and who knows what other powers. Somehow that made it even hotter, that he had complete control over someone who could easily beat him in a fair fight. It wasn’t like Quentin Beck ever fought fairly anyway.

At this point he couldn’t ignore the way Peter was almost helplessly rutting against him, begging to be touched. Beck unbuttoned Peter’s pants with one hand and ran his fingers over the quivering length within. His underwear was already soaked with precum. Beck shook his head. _Teenagers. _

He stroked his fingers lightly over the obvious tenting again, for a brief tease, but then took his hand down the backside instead. Peter actually gasped and shuddered when he found the opening after a moment of questing. Beck did not take things slow, mercilessly thrusting his fingers inside. It was a little sadistic, yes, but Peter didn’t seem to mind terribly. He rocked himself more desperately, either forward into Beck’s hips or back into his fingers.

“Mr. Beck–“ he panted after a while, the first intelligible words spoken besides whispered profanities.

“Hm?” Beck kept the pace relentlessly. He had thought about asking Peter to use his first name instead, but there was just something nice about how he said it, respectful and enticing all at once.

“Please– I’m gonna–“

“Shhh, it’s okay, you can come. It’s all right.”

Peter came with a muffled cry into shoulder of the costume, squeezing his legs tight enough to bruise ribs. He whispered a string of thank-yous and apologies as he relaxed into Beck’s arms. His body got heavier as he loosened himself from his mounted position; Beck had to shift his grip on his legs so that they both didn’t slide down the wall.

He knew he should stop here. This was already blowing past the boundaries of what it meant to be a responsible adult figure in Peter’s life. Mysterio, noble hero from another world, wouldn’t do this sort of thing. But how was he supposed to resist? Here was one last chance to stick it to Tony Stark, and have a little fun while doing it. He was only human, after all.

He carried Peter across the room and placed him gently on the desk. He began to pull down Peter’s jeans and underwear, which were already loose around his hips.

“What..?” Peter asked muzzily.

“Just lay back. That’s a good boy.”

He unsnapped the fly of his own costume (rather inconvenient at a time like this, they’d have to redesign it) and stroked himself slowly, adding a some spit for lubricant.

Peter maneuvered himself onto his elbows, glanced down, and widened his eyes. He then glanced back up at Beck’s face, biting his lip. There was a mix of emotions on his face, but Beck didn’t bother to decipher them. He pushed open Peter’s legs and slid between them, grabbing the back of one of his thighs and pushing it upwards.

There was a sharp little intake of breath as he entered, which changed partway through to a whimpering moan. Peter was a little loosened up from before, but it was still an incredibly tight squeeze. Beck took his time, pressing inwards inch by painful inch, watching Peter squirm underneath him. He knew it was painful for the kid, maybe even bloody, but hey, what’s superhuman healing for anyway?

Peter was letting out quick and shallow breaths, almost panicked-sounding, but he opened his legs wider to let Beck in, even slinging a leg over his shoulder. _Goddamn, he’s flexible. _Emboldened, Beck pushed the split wider, the leg further. He wanted to push past the kid’s limits and see him collapse like a marionette doll, but all Peter did was readjust himself and accept it.

With one more thrust, Beck was all the way in. He paused for a moment, savoring the hot, tight feeling. Maybe the kid _was_ a virgin. _Well, not anymore._ He placed his hands on Peter’s hips and began slowly thrusting. Each time he heard a squeak or moan, he went further, narrowing down on things that got a response, either good or bad.

Peter was a lot less responsive than he had been earlier, but he still rolled his hips upwards and kept a grip on the front of Beck’s costume. He was putting up with the pain admirably, Beck thought, although that was to be expected of a superhero. He wondered what he’d have to do to really make Peter break. What would leave him helpless and begging. Although even Beck didn’t know if he wanted Peter to beg to stop, or to keep going.

He built himself up a rhythm, setting the pace fast and hard now that Peter was loosened up. It felt good to just let off steam, he hadn’t had much of a chance to do so after getting fired from Stark Industries. Not a lot of people were interested in a washed up engineer. But that would all change once Mysterio reached his full potential, he told himself. He’d have to beat admirers back with a stick. Peter Parker was only the tip of the iceberg.

Speaking of Peter, in the minutes between the being on the wall and the desk, he’d managed to get hard again. _God, teenagers are fucking ridiculous. _Beck lightly touched the dripping length, now fully released from the confines of his underwear.

“Please, Mr. Beck,” Peter moaned, reaching for his own cock.

Beck slapped his hand away. “Please what?”

“Please– please can you touch me? Just a little, please.”

Beck sighed and gave Peter a slow squeeze, working with the rhythm he’d already built. It seemed to do the trick: it only took a few minutes more for Peter to whimper out another mumbled apology and come into Beck’s gloved hand.

_Ugh, now I need to get this dry cleaned. _Annoyed, Beck returned to his own ministrations, thrusting so hard that the table trembled with each push. He dug his fingers hard into Peter’s hips; the last shred of kindness dissipating. He didn’t really care anymore about seeming like the good guy. He just wanted it to hurt.

He came with a groan and one last thrust. He collapsed onto his elbows over Peter, still deep inside him. They lay there for a calm few moments, the only sound being their breathing returning to normal. The slight stupor of alcohol was fading, and now all that was left was a gross stickiness in both body and mind.

Beck slowly extricated himself, the post-sex remorse already making itself known. _What the fuck am I doing? _

Peter was honestly a mess: clothes crumpled or nonexistent, hair and body sweaty, and cum streaking his stomach and dripping out of his ass. He seemed utterly overcome; his normally talkative nature was conspicuously absent. He got up from the desk gingerly and grabbed his pants and shoes off the floor. Beck turned away in some weird simulacrum of modesty, as if he hadn’t been fully inside his body only a few moments earlier.

It was a stupid thing to do. He knew that. He might have ruined all their careful plans with his petty, impulsive need to one-up Tony Stark. But maybe it could be salvaged. He still had his charisma and reputation. He was just dealing with a teenager after all.

_Deep breath. Turn on the charm. _

“Peter–“ he said, but when he turned to look, Peter was gone. The window to the street, now open, blew a slight breeze into the stuffy room.

“Fuck!” Beck curled his hands into fists. “God _fucking_ dammit!”

Elsewhere, Peter Parker swung through the streets of Prague, still slightly tipsy. His body was hurting and weird and wonderful, and his mind wasn’t much better. All he could think about was what had just happened, and the faint hope that it might happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first fanfic I've ever posted online, I would love to hear anything you have to say about it. :) 
> 
> I imagine this fits pretty much within the movie, just with a slightly extended timeline.
> 
> (Also, peep the part where I reused dialogue from the script in a different context, lol.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing worse than teenage drinking is teenage hangovers. That, and the overwhelming need for approval from psuedo-father figures.

Peter swung back to his hotel room, collapsed into bed, and immediately had to throw up. Somehow web-slinging across the city didn’t trigger any nausea, but as soon as he laid his head on the pillow, everything began to spin. He made it to the bathroom (luckily) but only to the sink. It almost felt good to empty his stomach, like purging poison from his system. It didn’t _taste_ good, but the beer hadn’t tasted good in the first place, so it wasn’t much of a difference.

_So much for spider immunity. _

He threw himself back into bed, managing to take off most of his sweaty, sticky clothes this time, and drifted off into a restless sleep. Unfortunately, he only got a couple minutes before running back to the bathroom to purge what was left in his stomach. His body was hopelessly exhausted, but his mind was confused, swirling, and not very sleepy at all.

_Isn’t alcohol supposed to be a depressant? _Peter thought, before drifting off to unconsciousness for what felt like the fifth time.

Someone was pounding on his door. It hurt, everything hurt, including the morning light from the window. Peter’s head and body ached in ways he didn’t even know were possible. His healing factor should have helped with most of the scrapes and bruises from the fight and the… other stuff, but apparently it didn’t help him process a large amount of Czech beer.

“Peter!” It was Ned’s voice, and his distinctive style of unending knocking. “We’re leaving for the museum! Are you even awake?”

Peter hobbled over to door and opened it, wincing the whole time.

“Pe– whoa. You kinda look like shit.” Ned’s eyebrows softened from vague annoyance to warm concern. “Is this from the Spider-man stuff yesterday?”

“Yeah, I–“

“Did you like, barf?” Ned wrinkled his nose and peered into the room. “It kinda smells like barf in here.”

“I just… don’t feel really good right now.” It was the truth, although it felt like an excuse.

Ned sighed and grabbed him in an unexpected hug. In a morning that seemed determined to cause him pain, it was a welcome feeling. Peter settled into it.

“Understandable. I’ll cover for you,” Ned said softly.

Some hurried footsteps sounded up the hallway, and Ned and Peter separated with the speed of most teen boys showing outward emotion. Mr. Harrington rounded the corner with a clipboard and a mildly anxious expression.

“Peter, we’re leaving in five minutes, I can’t hold up the charter bus–“

“Peter threw up,” Ned said immediately, pointing an almost-accusatory finger. Peter gave him a look, and Ned returned with a shrug. It wasn’t the worst cover he’d ever come up with. It was even true.

“Oh. You’re not feeling well?” Mr. Harrington glanced Peter up and down. If he looked as bad as he felt, Peter was sure that it’d be a believable excuse.

“No, I think I came down with something… I started feeling it at the opera.”

“That explains why you were in the bathroom the entire time. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” Mr. Harrington said. He sighed, and then said with slightly ineffectual authority: “Well… I guess you can stay here, as long as you promise to stay in your room. We’ll be back in the hotel at noon for lunch, so come downstairs then.”

“I will,” Peter said, mostly just wanting the conversation to end. The nausea was mostly gone but his head was beginning to really throb.

Ned gave him another brief hug before following Mr. Harrington down the hallway. “Rest up. See ya later.”

Peter closed his hotel door again, briefly grateful to Nick Fury for getting them each individual rooms. He pulled his widow shades, took a couple of the painkillers May had packed for him, and fell back into bed.

He didn’t sleep, but it was just nice to lay in the dark for a while. His life was always busy, busy, busy. Between school and Spider-man and saving the world, he hadn’t had time to actually just veg out for at _least_ months, if not literal years. This Europe trip was supposed to be relaxing break, but with the elemental monsters lurking around it just ended up being more of the same.

It took a while, and a couple more painkillers, but the headache began to fade until it was no more painful than the rest of his healing injuries. Peter slowly progressed from lying prone, to scrolling through his phone, to flipping through Czech TV, trying to find something in English. Eventually he worked up the strength to take a much-needed shower and air out the stale smell of his room. Now, sitting with a bathrobe, a protein bar, and a channel showing anciently old American sitcoms, he almost like a full person again.

He was trying to comprehend the deep lore behind Fraiser when he got another knock at his door.

“I don’t need housekeeping! Thank you!” he called to the door, trying to remember if he put the Do Not Disturb sign up.

“It’s me, Peter.”

Peter startled a little at the familiar voice.

“One second!” he said, a lot squeakier than he would have liked. He quickly shut off the TV, pulled on a pair of boxers under his robe, and opened the door.

“Hey.” Quentin Beck gave a little wave. He looked strangely normal, and Peter realized he wasn’t wearing the cloaked costume he had always seen him in, just a standard dark jacket, shirt, and pants.

Beck seemed to catch his look. “Fury lent me some clothes. He said the suit was too flashy. Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Peter said, fervently glad he’d freshened up the room slightly. There was a weird sort of nervous energy in his guts. He’d been avoiding thinking about what had happened last night, like it was a dream that he’d forget if he focussed on it too hard. It had been so nice and so weird and so… hot. Even the parts that were scary and painful were kind of hot. It wasn’t quite what he expected his first time to be like, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed.

Peter sat on the edge of his bed and made sure to leave plenty of room beside him, but Beck elected to stand. He shifted a little from foot to foot, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter felt his stomach clench, and didn’t really realize why until he saw Beck sigh and rub his eyes.

_Oh no._

He knew exactly what was coming. He’d seen it before. Rejection.

–––

It was very late in the Stark Tower. They had been working in the lab for hours, fine-tuning on the new spider-suit, but it was still as exhilarating as when they started. Each idea they bounced off each other had lead to another great idea, like a beautiful collaborative masterpiece. Mr. Stark (or as Peter had been secretly calling him, Tony) had just sent off their latest web-repellent nanostructure to the 3D printer to test out.

“That was a brilliant move with the second hydrophobic layer, by the way.” Tony slung his arm over Peter’s shoulders and squeezed him to his side. “I might have to steal that for my suit.”

“No problem,” Peter said, a little breathlessly.

He leaned into the hug, fully expecting Tony to pull back from affection like he always did, but was surprised when he didn’t. In fact, he nestled his head briefly in Peter’s hair with a tired-sounding sigh.

The atmosphere of the room was intimate, almost electric. Peter felt his skin prickling. This was it, this was the signal he’d been looking for, hoping for.

He turned his head, tenderly kissed upwards, slightly missing his mouth but correcting partway through. _Finally, finally–_

Tony shoved him away, too roughly. His breath was shaky but his voice was firm.

“No, Peter. _No_. This isn’t something that can happen. Ever.”

“But–“

“I think you should go home now.” The look in his eyes made the statement into a command. The former pleasant ambience of the lab was shattered, ruined beyond repair.

Peter clutched his backpack to his chest and held back tears in the elevator, just in case Tony was watching over the security cam. He waited until he got to an isolated rooftop to let out the full torrent of self-hating sobs.

It was never the same after that. They talked and they helped each other like before, but always at a more formal distance, like Tony thought even a pat on the back was a dangerous provocation. Peter loathed himself almost daily for ruining everything with his stupid, immature feelings.

And then Tony died, and he could never, ever take it back.

–––

“Peter, I feel like I’ve made a mistake,” Beck said, after a long moment. He looked saddened, but resolute.

_No, no, no, please don’t–_

“I think we were both a little overwhelmed in the excitement of yesterday, and perhaps did some things more impulsively than we meant to.”

_Please, please don’t leave me–_

“Maybe I misinterpreted what you–“

“I wanted to!” Peter interjected, starting to his feet. And then said, more quietly: “You asked me what I wanted… you said you would help me. I wanted to. Please.”

“Peter…”

“Please, I just– I just want–“ Peter stuttered to a stop. It was too big, too vulnerable to say out loud. And it didn’t even matter, Beck was just going to leave anyway. That’s what always happened. Why pour salt on the wound?

He almost flinched when Beck enveloped him in a hug. It was different than the hug with Ned, and not just because of the height difference. Where Ned’s hug was comforting and gentle, this hug was intense, and almost possessive. Instead of becoming relaxed, Peter felt a hot spark of… something start in his spine.

“Of course I want to help you.” Beck whispered into his ear. He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair and pressed his head against his chest. “You’re so special Peter. I want to give you everything you want.”

Peter wrapped his arms tightly around Beck and tried not to let the pinpricks of tears in his eyes get onto his clothes. He was almost ecstatic with relief. Even if it was just for a day, an hour, there was some responsible adult person who would let him be the immature one for once.

He had to hold onto this somehow, catch it in his hands before it disappeared like everything else. 

“I want you to kiss me,” he said. “Please.”

Beck smiled and caught his chin. “Whatever you want.”

He was a much more experienced kisser than Peter was. Each time Peter tried to return or copy a gesture, he felt like he was making a fool of himself. But the fumbling attempts didn’t seem to bother Beck much. He just angled his head to the side and pressed Peter’s lips open more and it all became effortless again.

Peter was immediately aware of how little clothes he had on and how close they were to the bed. Any pain or unpleasantness from the last night was forgotten in his overwhelming need to touch and be touched. He pulled at the back of Beck’s tucked-in shirt and scrabbled at his belt.

“Hey,” Beck grabbed his wrist. Not a full refusal, but a light warning.

“Please?” Peter said, fully conscious of the fact that he begging like a kid, “I’m not drunk or anything. I really, really want to. Please.”

Beck looked at his face and huffed out a breath. “All right.”

He stripped off his borrowed jacket and shirt and threw them on the ground among Peter’s own discarded clothing. Peter tried to not stare at his chest (muscular and lightly grazed with chest hair) but Beck was already pulling off his hotel robe and pushing him backwards toward the bed.

Beck’s weight on top of him was comforting and electrifying all at once. The new angles and points of pressure were a lot different from last night, and he was almost overwhelmed with the sensations. It wasn’t like he’d never kissed anyone before, but they were chaste schoolyard kisses, not this adult intensity. And most of it had happened before the spider incident too, when his senses were numb and dull.

It was hard to even remember what it was like before his senses were expanded, before he could feel the vibrations from people talking on another floor, or the slight breeze of an open window in another room. It was almost like everyone else was walking around with a sack over their head. Sometimes he almost pitied them, other times he was envious. When you were receiving so much data from every sensory organ in your body, it was easy to get overwhelmed. But going back to that muffled, colorless world would be even more unbearable.

Beck ran his hand lightly over Peter’s legs on the way to the waistband of his boxers. The light touches were almost more effective than the heavy ones; they made his skin vibrate and his hair stand on end. Beck hooked his fingers around the elastic waistband and pulled it off roughly, and then Peter was fully naked. He felt raw and exposed, the wounds from yesterday marking all over his body, healing but not fully healed. Beck stared at him a little while he shucked his own clothes, his gaze filled with something almost like hunger. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time, to be the object of someone else’s gaze. Little flickers of doubt scampered across his mind, but stronger than anything else was his own overpowering lust.

Peter edged his legs open gingerly, almost an invitation. It had been so painful yesterday (and he had only stopped aching that morning) but there was also something that was so intense and heady about it. Beck wasn’t just being nice to him, he actually thought he was desirable. And Peter wanted to feel useful and wanted again.

Beck slid between his legs, pressed them wider, flatter against the bedspread. He ran a hand across Peter’s chest, prompting more goosebumps, before digging into the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Peter bit his lip and steadied himself for the pain he knew as coming.

But when he felt the slight touch at the opening, he darted his arm down and grabbed Beck’s wrist.

“Wait!” he blurted out. “Can you– can you tell me nice things? While you’re… doing that?”

Beck looked a little distracted, but did his best to direct his attention back to Peter’s words. “Nice things?”

_Tell me you like me. Tell me how special, amazing, wonderful I am. Tell me I’m doing the right thing. Please tell me so I can actually believe it. _

“Like you did before?” he ended up saying, a little lamely.

Beck stared at him for a moment before smiling. “Of course.” He bent down and placed his mouth near Peter’s ear and repositioned his hips. “You’re such a good boy, Peter Parker. So strong, so brave…”

He was almost embarrassed at how much he responded to the first “good boy”, but it wasn’t enough to keep the wince of pain off his face. It was painful, just as painful as before, but at least now he had a husky voice whispering compliments to him instead of silence. _This sort of thing is supposed to be painful, right? This is normal. He wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t normal. _

“Shh, it’s okay, just relax. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Beck’s words were flowing so sweetly, but his actions were anything but gentle. His finger dug deep into Peter’s hips with bruising strength as he slowly but remorselessly thrusted into him. It hurt so, so bad, but Peter didn’t want to let it show, because that might mean they would stop and Beck would leave. He concentrated on his breathing, like he did when he hurt himself on the job, and hoped his small gasps sounded more like enjoyment than pain.

Beck didn’t seem to notice either way, and continued to whisper sweet nothings and leisurely gyrate his hips, clearly in no hurry. Unlike the frantic happenings of last night, neither of them felt the need to get to the end quickly.

After a while it did get a little easier, and also a lot more pleasant. There was a particular spot that was almost enjoyable, if only for a moment. Peter angled his hips upwards slightly, in an attempt to get back to that brief feeling. Beck took it as an invitation to go deeper, harder, which felt worse and better at the same time.

“Oh, you’re doing so good,” Beck whispered. “You’re such a sweet boy, Peter.”

He leaned down to kiss and graze his teeth along Peter’s neck. He could tell that Beck really wanted to bite down, sink his teeth in deeper into his flesh, but for some reason he held back. Peter wanted to tell him that he could take it, he’s been through a lot worse, stop treating him like a kid, but he didn’t. There was the tiny, nagging thought in his mind that he maybe he _couldn’t_ handle it. Maybe there were a lot of adult things that he couldn’t handle.

The warmth was really starting to build in his lower half, especially now that Beck was touching between his legs again. It was only a few light caresses, but with the added pressure from behind it was almost enough to–

There was a knock at the door. They both froze in place.

“Peter?” Ned called through the door, “You there?”

Peter stared wildly between the door and Beck, who shrugged and gave him a little wave to respond.

“Y-yeah?” he said, doing his best to sound somewhat normal.

“We’re all at lunch, you feel up for coming?”

Peter twisted to see the bedside clock. 12:08. With all that had gone on that morning, he had completely lost track of time.

“Um, maybe in a little bit?” He felt Beck start to slide out, which was disappointing but probably for the best. “I’ll meet y–“

Beck thrusted back into him suddenly, and Peter bit his lips trying to suppress the noise he made. He stared at Beck with wide eyes and shook his head very slightly. In return, all he got was a crooked grin and fingers digging deeper into his hips.

“What?” Ned asked.

“I’ll come down– ah– in a sec!”

“You’re being super fucking lame, Peter.” It was MJ’s voice. Peter stared at the door in silent panic. They hadn’t spoken since he left her at the opera to fight the fire elemental; it was one of the many problems he had spent the morning avoiding. The guilt twisting deep in his guts was coming back to the surface.

He stared at Beck in mute desperation, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He continued his aggressive movements silently, one hand gripping his hips tightly and the other caressing Peter’s face in a strangely gentle gesture. He could easily shove Beck away, but… somehow he didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry!” Peter panted out, “I’ll meet you downstairs!”

“Fine,” MJ said, clearly still annoyed.

“Ok! See you there,” Ned’s voice was slightly more worried, but by the sound of the footsteps he also decided to follow MJ back down the hallway.

Beck leaned over, fully engulfing Peter in a tight embrace, still rutting into him. The brief moment of guilt and shame was forced to the back-burner as he grasped at Peter’s cock, seemingly almost desperate to make him come. His breath flowed past, in hot and intense. “You’re such a good boy, Peter. Oh god, you’re exquisite. I love you so much.”

Peter clutched at him, almost unable to process the last sentence, as Beck came inside him with a low moan. After a few moments of breathing Beck reached down to roughly finish him off, still whispering and kissing at his neck. It only took a little longer for Peter to cry out softly and come, mostly onto his own chest.

He felt momentarily emptied, blissfully mindless. There was someone on him who was warm and affectionate and comforting. The ever persistent guilt and shame would return soon enough, but for now he was content to just lay there on the duvet.

He didn’t get much time to enjoy it though, a errant glance at the bedside clock reminded him of where he was actually supposed to be.

“Oh shit,” he groaned. “I should really go meet the group.”

He maneuvered himself gingerly out of Beck’s arms and began searching the floor for a clean set of clothes.

“I mean, you _could_ do that,” Beck said, stretching lazily, “Or you could just stay here.”

Peter looked at him again. He really shouldn’t, he knew that. His friends were worried about him. He had barely seen any of Prague. But… he could also just put off those problems for a while longer. That wasn’t a bad thing, right? He was allowed to take a break once in a while. 

“Look, you just saved the world yesterday, no need to rush back into tourist mode yet,” Beck said. He shrugged. “Your choice though.”

After a few more moments of internal debate, Peter fished his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. He sent a quick apology to his friends and another excuse to his teacher. This _was_ supposed to be a vacation. He should be allowed to do what he wanted, at least sometimes.

Beck slipped out around sunset, with the EDITH glasses in hand. It had only taken a few more pointed comments, terms of endearment, and feigned nobility for Peter to hand over control of Stark’s entire drone fleet. The kid was practically pleading for someone, anyone, to take responsibility instead of him. The weight of saving the entire world was heavy on any normal adult’s shoulders, but Peter was practically collapsing with it.

Twirling the glasses around his finger, Beck contemplated the cruelty of Tony Stark. Of course, he had his own personal vendetta against the man, as did everyone in his crew, but that was at least intentional, straightforward. Stark was a notorious asshole who alienated almost everyone he ever worked with, what was there not to hate?

But even when Stark thought he was being kind, he was being impossibly cruel. How could he bequeath an army’s worth of war technology to a sixteen year-old? It was not given to his wife, or his colleagues, or even the government, but to a _child_. It was no wonder that Peter foisted off the burden to the first adult that spared him a second of sympathy.

The Avengers deserved someone like Quentin Beck in their ranks. The world was falling into chaos and they all fucked off to parts unknown to leave a teenager in charge. If someone was going to step up into the power vacuum, it might as well be him.

And there was something so delicious about taking Stark’s place in the pantheon. Beck had already taken his technology and his protege; soon it would be his entire reputation. Mysterio would be the name on everyone’s lips, and Tony Stark would just be a sad footnote at the end of the five year blip.

His protege… Beck almost salivated at the memory. Fucking Peter practically in front of his crush had been an unexpected delight. The way his eyes lit up in fear and yet also anticipation was heavenly. The boy was so willing to do anything for approval. He’d happily go through agonizing pain and embarrassment if it meant helping someone else. It was almost _too_ sweet.

It just made Beck want to crush him all the more. What were the limits? What would make him give up control, break down completely? Peter was willing to forgive so much, especially from adults he trusted. Beck wanted to push him right up to the edge. Or maybe over it.

These were dangerous thoughts. He had been planning to keep a proper distance from Peter after obtaining EDITH. The kid wasn’t a total idiot; more exposure meant more time for him to spot the cracks in the façade. But there was something irresistible about the idea of taking over Stark’s role in his life completely. Someone wasn’t truly dead until the living forgot their name, right? He wanted Peter to forget Stark ever even existed.

If nothing else, he told himself, having the loyalty of a superpowered teen was undoubtably an asset. He should hold back from his worst desires so as not to scare him off, but continuing a friendly relationship could certainly be a good thing. It wasn’t a selfish decision, it was a practical one. Keep your enemies close, after all.

Beck cracked a grin on his way back to his crew’s hideout. The finale of their little European rampage was going to be exquisite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I could fit a little tragic Starker in here, who knew. Honestly I think Mysterio works best as a horrible, horrible rebound, because that’s basically actual canon. Thanks MCU for being even more sadistic to Peter Parker than I could ever be! 💕
> 
> I am still learning so I appreciate any and all comments you care to give.  
(I’m thinking of doing a final part after the reveal, but we’ll see! If so, it will be posted within a week or two. The events of the movie still happen, this is just… extra. I can’t resist illusion torture.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look on the bright side, being trapped in a nightmare vortex by a super villain might not be the worst thing that happens to you today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: in this chapter we go full psychological torture and depictions of bodily harm, both illusion and real. We are also veering from dubcon to noncon. Please be aware of all tags, which have been slightly updated.

As soon as he saw Peter’s little friend pick up the projector, Beck knew it was over. Not over for him, never for him, but over for Peter. And that was a tragedy in itself.

He felt the anger grow in him like a warm glow. He didn’t ask for much from his crew, just that the plan not be _entirely_ bungled by a nosy high school student. Everything had been going so great, but now because of a utterly stupid error, he had to kill a super hero. And not even one of the ones he wanted to kill.

“I have to fool seven billion people here, including Nick Fury, who happens to be the most paranoid person on the planet,” he snarled towards his captive audience, “If he catches on before I've killed him, then he _will_ put a bullet in my head. And nobody wants a bullet in their head. Right?”

The drones trained themselves on his crew. _It would be so easy, just a flick of a button…_

“Right?” he asked again.

William gave a strangled little nod. He didn’t think a missing hyper-advanced holo-projector was important? Maybe he deserved to die.

Beck hurriedly checked the rest of the available security footage. Miraculously, it looked like no one else had seen the projection on the street, but it was impossible to tell who Peter might have told in the hotel. Every single one of his classmates were now a liability.

He clenched his hands into tighter fists. The rage built in his chest and leaked like bile out of his throat. “You know William, one day, after I've had to kill Peter Parker because of this... I hope you remember that his blood is on your hands!”

His team huddled in silent groups, off-balance from his outburst. No one dared be the first to speak.

Beck liked his colleagues, but he sometimes wondered if he would have been better off without them. The Avengers only crumbled when they joined together after all. How useful would they be after he became a beloved international hero? It would be so _simple_ to have EDITH wipe out a few extra people in London… but that would be a waste. They still had use to him. Even William.

“Someone book me a flight to Berlin,” he said, not looking at them. Rage could be useful, but perhaps not in the present moment. “I’ll clean this mess up myself.”

He spent the flight to Berlin compiling simulations. If felt good to focus all the heat inside him into one singular point of white-hot fury.

If he couldn’t punish his team, then at least he could punish Peter Parker.

By the time he touched down in the airport, he’d calmed down slightly. Not enough to temper his need for retribution, but just enough to be methodical about it.

It wasn’t hard to pick up Peter from the train station in a Fury illusion. The kid was almost comically trusting, even after all that he had been through. It probably helped that Fury was a blunt and unfriendly man; it was easy to pass as someone who used surly silences to communicate.

He had to hand it to Victoria, the location that she found for their fake SHIELD headquarters was pretty great too: empty, industrial, far from any populated areas. Although it wasn’t like he needed more than a couple empty floors of concrete and rebar. The illusion tech integrated so smoothly with Stark’s drones that he could probably simulate an entire city. For now, all he needed was a boardroom.

“–I think he’s using drones.” Peter said, winding down his long and hurried explanation. He had placed the projector on the table, which was good, but hadn’t yet revealed who he showed it to, which was not so good. Beck wasn’t a monster, he didn’t particularly want to kill an _entire_ school bus of high schoolers. Just the ones who knew too much.

“If this is true then Beck's a very dangerous man,” He said in Fury’s voice, “We need to be smart about this. Who else did you tell?”

“I–“ Peter glanced around, suddenly on edge, “It’s Beck. He’s here.”

_Time to do things the hard way, _Beck thought, even though he’d been secretly hoping for it to go down like this. With a flick of some buttons, he dissolved the SHIELD headquarters, revealing the half-completed construction underneath.

“What–“ the Fury-illusion said, before getting brutally shot in the gut. That had been a fun simulation to animate.

“Fury!” Peter cried out. But it was too late for him to escape. He was already caught up in the dance.

_Round and round we go. _

“Oh, Peter. I thought we were close,” Beck boomed over the drone speakers, “Fury always had to die. But not _you_.”

That part was true. Peter was worth more alive than dead, or at least he used to be. It was such a goddamn waste. A single piece of missing equipment and now he had to kill his sidepiece. Sidekick. Whichever.

Peter was already scrambling toward the exit, or at least where he thought the exit was.

_Don’t give him any time to think. _Beck pulled up the next simulation, a version of himself, which caused Peter to punch wildly at a concrete pillar. It made him smile a little. Peter was already not thinking straight: Beck obviously wouldn’t be anywhere close to danger like that. He _wanted_ to be there, he wanted to touch, to crush Peter with his own hands, but the way the concrete crumbled into powder was reason enough to keep his distance.

“I tried to help you walk away,” he said, “Now you're making me do this.”

“I know this isn’t real!” Peter yelled up at the sky, probably trying to sound defiant but only succeeding in sounding desperate.

“You have no idea what is real,” Beck whispered over the speakers.

Beck didn’t like to think of himself as a cruel person, but there was something about Peter Parker that triggered an intense sadism in him. Maybe it was the way he never complained, never begged, never asked for anything more, even when he was reaching the end of the pain scale and worryingly close to death. What did Beck have to do to make him break? Snap his spine? Kill his friends in front of him? It was annoying, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. And if he killed him before he figured it out, it would almost feel like losing.

At least now he had an excuse to not hold back.

He swiped a few more preprepared illusions onto the floor and watched Peter scramble across the ground. It was almost funny: everything just looked like empty wireframes on his head-up EDITH display, but Peter obviously couldn’t tell the difference. He ran at the vision of Beck strangling his little friend as frantically as if it were the real thing. Beck redirected the simulation slightly, making him trip straight into an unfinished elevator shaft.

The little gasp of panic was great, although Beck kind of wished he made him take off his mask first so he could actually see the reaction. The heady memory of Peter twitching underneath him combined with the current audio was _almost_ enough to excite him. The way his body rag-dolled from the fall before he caught himself was also delightful, but tantalizingly distant.

“Stop hiding, Beck!”

It was almost playing a video game, or directing a rat in a maze. Beck felt distant and god-like, controlling movements so minutely from several stories above. He idly rearranged the illusions to shepherd Peter away from the public streets and toward the more abandoned and dangerous parts of the terrain. The shifting simulations were designed to be relentless; Beck knew he couldn’t give him any time to use his weird spider powers.

He started to angle Peter toward the train tracks, then stopped. Beck knew that he had to kill him. That fact was unavoidable. But did he have to kill him _right_ now? It seemed like such a shame. It felt like giving up, like smashing the puzzle box before learning the answer. He still wanted to play with Peter a little more.

It was easy to talk himself into it. The London attack wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, he had time to let off a little steam. He deserved it. The unfinished basement had a few big, thick-walled rooms that could probably hold a superhero for a little while. If worse came to worst, he could just shoot Peter in the face. It wasn’t like he could dodge a bullet he couldn’t even see.

He twirled the animations around and guided Peter gently towards an unfinished hole in the floor.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what made Peter afraid and guilty. The torture of his friends was practically a freebie, but the death of a father figure was perhaps a richer source of emotion. Beck smiled again as he queued up the Tony Stark corpse. It was almost cartoonishly grotesque, but judging by Peter’s panicked breathing that wouldn’t really matter. He had kind of wanted to include the dead uncle as well, but he seemed to have died without so much as a Facebook account. It was just as well, Beck had thousands of files of Stark’s stupid face and suit.

Peter stumbled precariously close to the edge of the pit. _Just a little farther. Now._

“If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive,” he whispered into the microphone.

Peter actually whimpered as the Ironman corpse clawed its way toward him. Beck wondered if he overdid the gore a little, but he couldn’t argue with the results. Peter was practically clawing into the concrete in order to get away. Right to where he wanted him.

Like a maestro conducting the climax of a symphony, he gestured the final illusions into place.

“Deep down, you know I'm right. You made your choice,” he said, “All you had to do was step aside. And now, you ha–“

His illusion body fell to the ground, and the Fury copy limped up triumphantly from behind. Peter’s relief was embarrassingly palpable.

The Fury simulation had not been easy to create, the man had a notorious dislike for being photographed. That’s why this gambit worked best after a string of rapid-fire, disorientating illusions. At least Beck had enough recordings of his voice from their various Elemental meetings to cobble together a decent simulacrum. He barely had to modulate the speech pattern: Fury only spoke in flat, aggressive tones anyway.

“Who else did you tell about Beck? I need to know. They’re still in a lot of danger.” The Fury illusion briskly questioned Peter, who was clearly still dazed. His bloodied knees left two red splotches on the concrete.

“Just Ned and MJ from my class, and maybe Ned told his girlfriend Betty, but that's it!” he stuttered out.

Beck smiled. Peter was too guileless to lie at a time like this, not when he had just been rescued from an evil villain. After all this, his trust in authority figures still hadn’t been broken.

“Wow,” he chuckled in Fury’s voice, “That was easier than I thought it’d be.”

“W-what?” Peter twitched, clearly sensing something was wrong, but hadn’t quite figured out what yet.

Beck readied the drones and let the Fury illusion dissolve away. “You’ve _gotta_ stop being so gullible. I mean, you're smart as a whip, clearly. Just… a sucker.”

He shot out the ledge from underneath Peter. His terrified cry grew rapidly fainter as he fell down several stories into the subbasement. He hit the ground with a sickening (and to Beck, strangely satisfying) crack.

Peter scrambled to his knees admirably in the new swirling mass of illusions, but the drones were already placing an unseen concrete slab over the only exit. It was one of those tall, narrow in-between spaces that was never meant to be a room, just something to eventually be filled in with concrete and insulation and sealed away forever. _A nice place to hide a body_, Beck considered off-handedly. It might not hold a super-powered teen forever, but it would last long enough. He just needed to break down his spirit a little more. Let him stew in the illusions.

“Just remember, I didn’t _want_ to do this,” Beck said over the drone speakers, “But you left me no choice.”

–––

Peter crawled forward, body aching. It wasn’t the worst fall he ever had, but it definitely felt like he had fractured a couple of bones. Nothing that a day or two of healing wouldn’t fix, but it wasn’t a problem he needed right now. The greenish fog of Mysterio’s illusions billowed around him, obscuring any sight of his actual surroundings. The fact that he hadn’t escaped the illusion, even for a moment, was almost as crushing as the fact he’d given away the names of his friends to a killer.

His guts twisted inside him, this time from guilt and not pain. How could he have been so _stupid_? He’d known Beck less than a week, why did he give him the keys to a fleet of murder drones? Fury was right, he was just… a stupid kid. A stupid kid who helped create a super-villain.

The worst part was that he knew why he did it, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Beck had been so nice, so charming, so responsible. So like… him. Everyone had liked Beck. Even Fury liked him.

_If that even was Fury in the first place_, he realized with another twinge of dread. How far back did this scheme go? Was SHIELD ever in Europe to begin with?

“Peter!” A voice cried out from the fog. It sounded very much like his aunt. “Peter, please!”

_I have to get out of here. I have to… think. _Peter closed his eyes and tried to block out the cries for help that had started to echo from the mist. It was easier said than done. His mind was already filled with a debilitating combination of fear and guilt; each familiar voice crying out for help was like a punch to the gut.

He placed his hands flat on the ground, feeling the solidness of it, and breathed. _This is real. Those sounds aren’t real. The visions aren’t real. It’s just drones. _He crept forward on hands and knees, concentrating on the dirt under his fingers. The air felt still, dead. He was somewhere enclosed. _I’m not in another dimension. This is a building. There has to be a wall somewhere. And walls have doors. _

It seemed like an endless crawl without any visuals to judge by, but eventually his knuckles hit something hard. He struggled to his feet, fractured bones aching, and open his eyes again. He couldn’t actually see the wall in front of him, it still looked like swirling fog, but he knew it was there. He placed his back against it gratefully and shot a web across the void in front of him, where it stuck to something.

He had been web-slinging long enough to be able to roughly judge where his webs were attached. Peter tugged the strand slightly. Felt like a solid wall, maybe thirty feet away. He stuck the web to the wall behind him and shot two more to the left and right. Forty-ish and ten feet away, respectively. There was comfort in that. He wasn’t stuck in an alternate reality dedicated to torturing him, this was a mundane space.

“How could you Peter? I trusted you.” Stark’s voice said right next to his ear. Peter flailed out blindly, still with eyes closed. Nothing connected.

One of the webs in his hands fell slack, like someone can cut it off the wall. Something was in here with him. Maybe it was just a drone, or maybe…

Despite the security of the wall at his back, Peter felt his heart rate spike. He couldn’t stay in this hallucinated hell for long or he’d really go insane. Even with his eyes closed, it was too much. The adrenaline of the chase before had been distracting, now he felt like he was on the edge of a panic attack.

It would take a while to comb the walls for a door, and it would probably be locked anyway. Peter felt like his nerves were filled with electricity, he didn’t have the patience for something that meticulous. He had to _move_. Luckily he was used to making his own doors.

He stuck a web to the wall above him and gripped it with both hands. _Deep breaths. Just like the Washington monument. _He backed up as far as he could to build momentum, and then swung with his legs together for what was hopefully a wall-breaking kick.

“Peter, no!” A voice screamed. His eyes flew open involuntarily.

“MJ!?”

She was crouched in front of him, looking more frightened than he had ever seen her. He tried to twist his body to the side, but it was too late to stop the swing. His flailing knee connected with a horrible crunch. She collapsed to her knees with a short cry, her face a mess of blood.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” He dropped down and tried to reach toward her but she flinched away. She was breathing with weird wheezing, choking sound. Her hands trembled as she tried in vain to stop the flow of blood from her face to the rest of her clothes.

_It’s not her it’s not her it’s not her it’s not her, _he repeated over and over. In some small space in his brain, he knew that this had to be just another illusion, and the crunch he felt was only the concrete wall. But it was impossible to think about abstract things like that, when his friend was kneeling in front of him in a pool of her own blood.

He tried to reach toward her but she flinched away. The way that she involuntarily shuddered at his touch utterly broke him. She didn’t hate him, she was scared of him.

_I have to… I have to get out. _He stumbled backwards, blindly running to the other wall. He would break through it with his fists if he had to. _Thirty feet, the wall is thirty feet away–_

“Please, Peter, please don’t.” It was another plaintive voice, trembling with fear. Ned was huddled where the wall should have been, genuine terror in his eyes. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Peter staggered backwards again, rapidly losing the mental image he had of the room he was in. For a moment there were hundreds of Neds, all injured and dying and terrified. Then it was his classmates. Or maybe it was people that he saved, or failed to save. He tried to get away from the phantom people, but they were on all sides now, looking at him in anger, disappointment, pain, fear.

He curled up on the ground, hands over his ears and eyes tight shut. It barely kept out their accusing eyes and plaintive voices.

“It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real,” he whispered. He said the words aloud, trying to focus on something, anything other than his surroundings. But it wasn’t long before the mantra lost all meaning and it felt like he was just making noises with his mouth.

What was real anyway? Did he actually save anyone in Europe, or had it all been illusions? This Fury was fake, maybe everyone he met here was, even the lady in the rest stop who made his costume. Maybe the call from Fury in New York was also a ruse. Could Happy have been fake? How far back did the illusions go?

He tried to concentrate on what he knew was real life, what he had actually touched and felt with his hands, but it felt like reality was slipping through his fingers. Beck was right, horribly right: Peter had no idea what was real.

–––

Beck left him in there for fifteen hours or so. The basic programs could be run on autopilot, he didn’t need to personally babysit them. Whenever Peter looked like he could be dozing off or planning escape, another specter of a dying loved one would reanimate and start screaming or begging for their life. He had even found some online footage of Spider-man’s early work (barely holding ferries together, letting buildings fall to crowded streets) which were great additions to the rotation.

He had a leisurely afternoon coffee in a nearby cafe, rested a while at a hotel, and came back to the construction area refreshed and energized. He kept the feed from the drone cameras in the corner of his EDITH glasses at all time, a pleasant little reminder of the things to come. He had really wanted to jerk himself off to Peter’s pitiful little cries of fear, but he abstained. It wouldn’t be worth it, not like this anyway. Not from behind a screen.

The reactions were growing fainter and more infrequent anyway. Peter was spending less time trying to move around and more time huddled up in the fetal position.

_Good, _Beck thought. He wanted to hit the sweet spot between a broken will and complete emotional catatonia. He had plenty of time to think about what he wanted to do to break Peter Parker into pieces, and he needed him in a susceptible state.

He knew it wasn’t smart to do this. If he was being smart, he would have put a bullet in Peter’s head hours ago and left for London. But he just couldn’t resist. Even after all these hours, Peter never asked for it to stop, never begged for mercy. He just took the punishment like he deserved it. It was almost infuriating.

If he had to break his hold on reality to break his spirit, so be it.

He readied himself at the edge of the basement pit. The simulated explosion covered up the sound of the concrete slab moving.

Ironman swooped in heroically and shot down the suddenly-visible drones. They crashed to the ground, taking their projections with them. The constantly flowing mist dissipated and the voices of the damned stopped screaming. Peter barely reacted.

“Peter, thank god!” Beck said in Tony Stark’s voice. It had been easy to choose who’s face to steal. He had plenty of data files on Stark’s face from his stupid self-help simulation. And there was no better person to play on Peter’s emotions. If he was ever going to break him, it would be with this face.

Peter, however, was still huddled in a ball, completely ignoring the pyrotechnics. He muttered to himself quietly until Beck walked over and touched him lightly on the shoulder.

He startled at the touch, and stared wildly in Beck’s direction. Beck ran the animation of Stark stepping out of his Ironman suit and put on a concerned face.

“Peter–“

“No, no, I know you’re not real,” Peter mumbled, almost to himself. He scrambled backwards on the heels of his hands.

“It’s okay, it’s me,” Beck said, grabbing his arm again. He gently tugged Peter’s mask off his face, relishing the tear-tracks that ran through the grime. Peter stayed frozen, almost shivering at the feeling of fingers on his face.

_Touch. Real human touch. _His simulations could do a lot of things, but actual touch was beyond their capabilities. Isolated in a chamber for this long and almost anyone would respond to it. _We’re just animals, after all. _

“No, you’re not… you’re dead,” Peter said with a small quaver. He was skittish like a cornered animal, but he didn’t want to tear himself away from Beck’s hand again. He was almost pinned with it.

Beck kneeled on the floor and gathered him up in a forceful hug. He buried his face into Peter’s neck. “No, no, no, that was another illusion. I’m so sorry Peter. Beck’s had you trapped in here for weeks, months maybe. I tried to… I’m so sorry.”

It didn’t really make a lot of sense, but if Peter was as disoriented as Beck thought he was, then it would be an adequate lie. People tended to believe what they wanted to believe. And everyone wanted to believe that their beloved hero wasn’t actually dead.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Beck held him even tighter. He wanted to crush the air out of his lungs, squeeze the life out of him like a small kitten.

“Wait, no, you’re… you can’t…” Peter seemed to desperately want to relax into the hug, but he was still as tense as a plucked string. “Tell– tell me something only you know. So I know it’s you.”

Beck hesitated for a moment, then went with his gut. He held Peter’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and slow. He could feel Peter’s body freeze in his arms, but he made no effort to break away.

“I’m so sorry about before,” he said vaguely, hazarding a guess at the past. It was obvious Peter had some sort of unresolved issues with Stark, it didn’t take a genius to guess what kind. There was no way he’d be so open to Beck before unless he was harboring some feelings.

Peter stared at him with wide, almost-unfocussed eyes. His breath was rapid and shallow.

“Are you alright, Peter?” Beck ran a thumb over his cheek.

Peter’s face slowly crumpled as he leaned into Beck’s chest. His shoulders started hitching up and down with sobs, first silently and then with full convulsive gasps. He clutched at the Beck’s clothes with dull fingers, as if confirming that he was still there.

Beck held him tight, rubbed calming circles into his back, and gave him a small kiss on the crown of his head. All innocent, unthreatening, and paternal. He was already extremely hard under his suit, but tried not to show it. The way Peter’s body was trembling underneath his, small and vulnerable… how could he not be turned on by that?

_Jesus, I guess I am kinda fucked up, _he thought, _Aren’t tears supposed to be an _anti_-aphrodisiac? _

He buried his face in Peter’s hair, laid a kiss on his forehead and against his ear. He went downwards, grazing his teeth lightly against his neck, not biting, not yet. It was getting hard to resist just fucking him into the floor. But doing it so suddenly would break the deception, and it wouldn’t be good if Peter was shocked into remembering his super strength.

Peter seemed to have registered the fact that his movements were becoming increasingly less comforting and more indecent. He was still crying, but he became quiet, more hesitant. Beck hungered for a more honest display of emotion.

“Oh Peter, I’ve wanted to do this for so long…” Beck whispered with Stark’s voice, “I missed you so much. I can’t let you out of my sight again.”

He pressed their lips together through Peter’s muffled crying, tasted the salty tears on his cheek. He was obviously in no state to want anything intimate, but at this point Beck didn’t much care what he wanted. Peter didn’t push back at all; in fact he made a valiant but pitiable effort to accommodate Beck’s questing mouth and hands.

“Mr. Stark–“

_Of course you’ll let Tony Stark do this to you, even though you’re hating every moment, _Beck thought with disgust,_ Because secretly, you want this to happen. You think you deserve this. And you can’t bear to disappoint him. _

He pushed Peter back onto the dirty concrete and situated himself between his thighs. _Say something. Resist me._ _You’re just gonna let your dead mentor fuck you in an abandoned building? At least _try_ to defend yourself._

“Do you know how irresistible you are? How much I held back…” he said. He pressed himself against Peter and reveled in the wonderful pressure and the slight whimper it brought. “God, I wanted to bend you over the lab table so many times. Fuck you until you begged me to stop.”

How many terrible things would he have to say in Stark’s voice in order to get a reaction? Peter eyes were still filled with tears from before, but he was holding it together remarkably well under the circumstances. He ran his fingers over Peter’s mouth, pressing down past his lips and teeth and into the heat of his throat. He wanted to ruin that pretty face.

_Do something. Scream at me. _Beck had a strong instinct for self-preservation, but it would be so satisfying if Peter took a swing at him. At least it would be _some_ type of reaction. He pressed his hand lightly around his throat, feeling how easy it would be to crush his windpipe. Peter didn’t even resist it, just laid there and stared up at Beck’s, no, _Stark’s_ face. _Maybe he even likes it_, Beck mused. _Anything for his hero._

“You’ve wanted this too, I know you have. The way you looked at me…” he breathed into Peter’s neck. “Like a slutty schoolgirl. Just begging to spread your legs…”

Peter wasn’t meeting his eyes. _Good. _Beck wanted to pervert the memory of Tony Stark. He wanted Peter to flinch each time he saw Stark’s stupid, smug face on another memorial. He wanted to infect his memories until even the good ones were hopelessly tainted.

There were too many layers of suits and body-armor to deal with, so Beck instead just pressed down and rutted between Peter’s legs. He was already so close from an unintentional day of edging, he had to deliberately make himself slow down. It wouldn’t be fun to come onto someone so tepid, so willing.

He put his fingers under Peter’s chin, stared him in the eyes. “Peter, I just want to know one thing… why did you do it?”

“Why did I do… what?” Peter whispered.

_Oh, a response._

“Give EDITH to Beck.”

He felt Peter’s body stiffen underneath him. His face, already tear-streaked, transformed into genuine panic. _God, that’s so fucking hot. _

“B-but, you said–“

“I thought I could trust you. You were always such a good kid.” He moved his hips faster. He was almost there, he just needed something more, something special to put it over the edge. “But just a kid. Immature. Clearly you weren’t ready for it.”

“I–“

“Honestly, it was just–“ Beck tapped his fingers and the Tony Stark illusion melted away, replaced by Mysterio in full cape and helmet regalia. “–so fucking disappointing.”

“No,” Peter whimpered in realization, “No no no please no–“

There it was, the voice of utter terror. The desperate, hopeless look of despair. The indefatigable Peter Parker was breaking.

“Please stop–“

Beck came hard, harder than he had in months. He rode out the orgasm by grinding down harder into Peter, kissing his mouth, biting his neck, digging nails into his skin, defiling him completely. It felt so good to tear into the kid like this, no pretending or holding back. This was way hotter, way better than the other times, despite the spandex and body armor separating them.

When the last echoes of pleasure subsided, he finally looked at Peter again. He had expected to be shoved off, hit in the face maybe, but Peter just laid still under him, tears still leaking from his eyes. He looked pithed, emptied, like a cow ready for slaughter.

Broken.

_Finally_.

Peter felt like he was floating about two feet above his body, watching everything from a distance. He saw Beck get up unhurriedly and dust off his knees. The green fog was already seeping back into the room, if this even was a room. It could be anywhere.

Peter knew that this was his one chance, his _last_ chance, to take out Mysterio. Once he left the room, he’d be trapped again. But somehow he couldn’t get his body to move. It was like being in a dream: every movement impossibly slow and heavy. He could still feel everything, but it was distant, like watching something on TV or through a VR headset.

Mysterio, or the illusion that looked like Mysterio, was already dissolving into the miasma of the illusion. Who knew where Beck’s real body would be.

It was almost nice to give in completely to despair. If his situation was hopeless, he didn’t have to worry about trying to escape. He could stop trying, stop pushing, stop thinking. Just lay there with static in his brain forever.

He wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t laying on the floor, and Beck wasn’t being careless. The ground vibrated and thumped as if a great weight had been dropped on it, but there was no accompanying nightmare image to match with it. Even with his heightened senses, it was barely noticeable.

_That’s not part of the illusion. _

It took him a few more minutes to gather himself together and get shakily to his feet. He still felt far away, universes away, but something kept him moving forward. Never mind these fake specters, his _real_ friends were in danger. He felt completely numb, the desperation and urgency that possessed him before had been stripped from his mind, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let them be harmed.

The whispers of tortured souls were beginning to pick up around him again. Maybe he could thank Beck for one thing; now that he remembered what a real person felt like, it was impossible to take the illusions seriously. They were awful to look at to be sure, but nothing compared to what an actual person could do.

He stepped through an image of his aunt screaming, and found a wall. Slowly, he crawled upwards, taking his time to find easier handholds. It was higher than he thought it was.

The ceiling was indeed shiftable, although he could barely get it up a couple inches from his awkward angle. That was okay though. He’d gotten out of worse traps.

It took him a couple precious hours to shift the concrete slab enough to squeeze out. He stumbled into true daylight, or what he hoped was true daylight. It seemed real enough, but he had made that mistake enough times today. Or maybe it was yesterday. Time, like everything else, felt abstract and unimportant.

He barely remembered to put his mask back on before entering the normal streets again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. I’m glad we could go on this sadistic journey together. The real sadist ending would be leaving Peter in the pit, but I always liked a fic that is compatible with canon. :) We all know Beck doesn’t die at the end anyway.  
If you liked this, please let me know. I’d love to hear your feedback!! Each comment I’ve gotten has made me smile.


End file.
